


I'm a Handful But That's What Hands Are For

by LeadingLady3



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Gender Non-Conforming Character, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Wears Makeup, Sugar Baby Stiles Stilinski, Sugar Daddy Peter Hale, love language: gift giving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeadingLady3/pseuds/LeadingLady3
Summary: Stiles Stilinski went through a major transformation during his time at college. He found a style that makes him feel comfortable in his own skin, his grasp on magic grew, and he got a degree in library sciences. The one thing that did not change was his raging crush on Peter Hale. Luckily, Peter seems much more willing to reciprocate said crush now that Stiles knows himself better. It doesn't hurt that Peter wants someone to spoil and Stiles doesn't mind being spoiled.Or, the one in which the author wants to be pampered but the only ethical consumption under capitalism is fictional consumption, so she projects onto her favorite pairing.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 32
Kudos: 136





	1. Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! Welcome to the most self-indulgent fic I've ever planned!  
> Just a warning, this has not been beta read.  
> Title comes from Madison Beer's "Baby," which fueled this particular writing spree.

Stiles still goes by he/him pronouns. It’s the first question he’s asked now when he decides to dress up and go out, so usually he just introduces himself that way. “Hey! I’m Stiles and I go by he/him pronouns.” It’s fine. Not like he gets offended or anything when someone does misgender him. It’s just a little awkward, and he’s tried to leave the “awkward” back in his teen years where it belongs, thank you very much. It took awhile for people to get used to calling him Stiles (remember “What’s a Stiles?” anyone?), so people will get used to this, too. That’s what he reminds himself when he’s a bit too impatient to deal with shitty people.  


The one good thing about living in a small town with a thriving queer population is that most people can’t stare too long even if they are assholes-- they just wouldn’t have time left in their day. A young man wearing more feminine-coded clothing and makeup will just have to become a nonissue, especially after said young man started working at the local library after college. Stiles became a fixture in the town, and what with the entire police department’s fondness for him, plus his affiliation with the Hales-the most powerful and rich family in Beacon Hills- people really can’t get up on their high horses over how he chooses to dress.  


Turns out Stiles wore all those layers in middle and high school because he just didn’t feel comfortable in those clothes. And it turns out that college and (subsequently) being away from people who knew you as the awkward little boy who lost his mom means that more people are willing to help boost your confidence, if you know what I mean. Fellow gender-nonconforming people, YouTube tutorials, and the space to experiment with his look means that unlike the buzzcutted, layers upon layers, 147 lbs of sarcasm and flailing that Stiles used to be (along with therapy for PTSD, ADHD, and an incredible amount of self hatred after the Nogitsune) means that now Stiles has a whole new lease on life. Short and artfully arranged hair, a face full of makeup, and clothes that feel more freeing than ever- regardless that they’re sometimes tighter than his old flannel and thrift store tee look- means that Stiles walks with confidence. Some of that confidence is artificial, but he knows that if he left the house with an ounce of self-consciousness on his face, assholes would jump on that in a heartbeat. Jackson taught him that in elementary school; it just took a while to implement a defense. Better to not give anyone a leg to stand on. These are the clothes he wears most of the time, and anyone who doesn’t approve can get a nasty case of food poisoning as far as Stiles is concerned.  


The people who love him are supportive, and that’s what matters. The Sheriff was thrown, for sure, and while he doesn’t get it, he’ll defend Stiles and his choices to the grave if he has to. Lydia was unsurprised after she thought about it. The brief time they spent dating after the Ghost Riders made Stiles certain he loved the feeling of satin and lace against skin, and he’s always been curious. After Lydia encouraged him to try wearing it himself, he was hooked. They didn’t last as lovers- there was too much history there- but they became best friends nonetheless. As for Scott, whom Stiles would still consider his brother- he doesn’t understand and mostly tries to ignore the changes. Besides, it doesn’t particularly matter what the person beating your ass at Mario Kart is wearing. The Hales were unconcerned. Werewolves don’t experience gender the same way human societies do.  


→←  


The first time Stiles walked into the Hale house with his new look, he had been terrified, and he was sure they could smell it. He’s never been one to do things halfway, so he decided to go all out for the occasion-- dress, shoes, makeup, earnings, and perfume. Maybe he could have waded into the water from the shallow end and started out with just mascara and lipgloss in his old high school clothes, and build up to the entire outfit, but again: he’s never been one to do things halfway, and he surpassed just mascara and lipgloss months ago while at college. Why should he go back to wearing his high school clothes for someone else’s comfort? If they didn’t accept him for who he was now, fishnets and all, they didn’t deserve him.  


But he was quaking in his boots.  


Talia had given him a key and open access to the pack house years ago, and while it had been awhile since he stopped by, he used to practically live here. It was old habit that saw him climb the porch and let himself into the house.  


Stiles was surprised not to see more people crowding the entry hallway. Cora had once told him that wolves could recognize a person by the unique sound of their footsteps, if they know the person walking well enough. If not that, they surely knew the particular pop and groan of Roscoe, his jeep. He thought they would crowd around him like his other friends did since they hadn't seen him in a while. He let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding and relaxed a bit. While he loved his friends, and had missed them just as much as they had missed him, all the crowding and fanfare was stressful. He could handle stressful situations better now as a 23 year old, but they were still not very fun.  


The strange stillness of the house gave Stiles the rare opportunity to stop and stare at the mass amount of family photos lining the hallway entrance, as well as the strange assortment of shoes next to the door. He knelt down to unlace and remove his combat boots, ironically mourning the ease of slipping off his old worn converse. Ah, the things we do for fashion. Stiles heard the soft clinking of his earrings swaying with his motions, and a satisfied smile graced his lips.  


A wolf whistle came from the living room archway. Stiles looked up, unsurprised that he hadn’t heard any footsteps, to see Cora leaning against the doorway and fake-leering at him. “Well, look at you, Stilinski! You clean up well.”  


Stiles’s smile spread to a grin, and he got to his fishnet-clad feet just in time for Cora to bear-hug him. Into his hair, he heard her say, “I’m gonna kick your ass for staying away for so long.” She pulled away and sneezed just in time for Derek to come ambling down the stairs. He stopped and gave Stiles his patented intense stare. Stiles smiled back, glad to see Derek hadn’t changed too much. The wolf looked away and muttered, “It’s nice to see you again,” continuing to head into the kitchen. As Derek passed the two young adults, though, he paused and a look passed over his face like he smelled something bad. He shook his head and kept walking.  


The twins came bounding out of the living room, running straight at Stiles. Moira and Kay were just about 8 years old, but you wouldn't know from the exuberant way they did everything. Stiles will never understand how they had that much energy, but the Sheriff assures him he was the same way at their age. Still, their energy is infectious, and Stiles finds himself bear hugging them just as hard as they clamped on to him. After he set them down, he gave them a once over. "Look at how much you two have grown! Soon you'll need to save up for retirement!" Stiles tousled both their hairs and they sneezed at the same time. Just as Stiles started to think the sudden bout of hayfever might've had something to do with him, the twins launched into their traditional interrogation.  


"Why did you stay away so long?"  


"You look JUST like that goth chick from mom's favorite show!"  


"Did you bring us anything?"  


"Why do you smell like that?"  


"Are you covering your scent 'cause you're on the run?"  


"You should've come see us more, we missed you!"  


"Didya learn any more magic while you were away?"  


"Are you a doctor? Mom says doctors have to go to school for a long time and you were gone a long time-"  


"Good deductive reasoning there, Moira, but don't you both think you should let Stiles answer your questions instead of answering them yourself?" Peter's low drawl came shortly before the man did, leaning against the library room archway as if he expected a photographer to stop by. Stiles would have taken the time to make that quip out loud if he wasn't currently dying of embarrassment. He didn't think his perfume smelled that bad! He also didn't think it was super strong. He did exactly what Tan France said to do on Queer Eye. Spray it in the air, wait a second, and then walk through it. And, if Stiles was being honest, when he didn't smell the perfume on himself he repeated the whole process. And maybe then he reverted to how he remembered his mom putting on perfume- spray on one wrist, rub on the other wrist and rub the stuff that hadn't dried yet on his neck.  


Ok, maybe he went overboard. And maybe this was a cheap perfume he picked up at the drugstore. Not everyone was Hale-rich, ok? He liked it- mostly- and that’s what mattered! Ugh, now he’s super self-conscious.  


Stiles was brought back to the present moment when a hand brushed his hot cheeks and tilted his face up to meet Peter’s eyes- not that there was much of a height difference between them now.  


“What pronouns do you go by, baby?” The words were soft, and unlike those who asked with a morbid curiosity in their eyes, Peter seemed as if he was simply asking about a basic fact. Like, if it were raining outside, in which case he would carry an umbrella. As if whatever Stiles answered wouldn’t be a big huge deal but instead would be a matter of fact. Stiles preferred this. Instead of the dread or the expectation he saw in some people’s eyes when they asked this question, as if his not fitting into their worldview of gender was a personal affront, Peter was ready for any answer. And Stiles knew deep in his bones that he would respect any answer.  


“It’s still he/him, thanks,” he heard himself answering, despite the detour his mind had taken. Memorizing scripts was one of the more helpful things his therapist had him do to minimize anxiety in uncomfortable situations, and he was always thankful for it when his mind started wandering.  


The twins brought him back to the present when both of them and Cora started theatrically fake-gagging. “Ewww, Uncle Peter, stop flirting with Stiles!”  


“You’re both stinking up the front hall!”  


Stiles’s cheeks heated up as he realized how long he and Peter had been standing and staring into each other’s eyes, the older man’s hand still caressing the younger’s face. He abruptly looked away and locked eyes with Cora, who was grinning one of her Cheshire cat grins, arms folded as she looked between him and Peter with mirth. Of anyone, she was probably the most aware of his lingering crush on her uncle (though in a werewolf household, he wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else knew, too). Stiles snuck a peek back at Peter, who was trying and failing to keep the twins from jumping on him. Maybe the crush was mutual, judging by the prolonged eye contact. And maybe… Stiles was more than okay with that.


	2. Do I Taste Like Candy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all… I have written too many professional emails lately XD When I tell you it was hard as hell to sound affectionate and not cordial… believe it.
> 
> Title of chapter also taken from Madison Beer’s iconic song “Baby”

About a week later, a mostly unmarked package arrived at the Stilinski address. There were no postal marks, but “for Stiles” was written on a tag on top in an obnoxiously elegant scrawl. While normally that would raise a few red flags, Stiles recognized the handwriting as Peter’s. Just to be safe, though, he performed a few quick spells to double check that there was nothing dangerous in the box. He wouldn’t be able to tell what was inside until he opened it, but for whatever reason his magic thought the contents were exciting. Eager, Stiles ripped into the careful wrapping job. Inside were a few smaller boxes and a crisp envelope. The boxes had both familiar and unfamiliar brand names, but Stiles’s eyes widened at the estimated cost of some of those items. He grabbed the letter on top, also addressed “for Stiles.” 

Inside read, “Dear Stiles, 

"Darling boy, I wanted to assure you that the twins meant nothing harmful with their remarks on your scent. Truly, I’m a fan of it myself, and I was inconvenienced to have been deprived of it when you visited. As you know, us Hales have… overly sensitive noses, and perfumes with an alcohol base often overpower anything else. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your exploration into scents, but I would like to provide you with a few perfume oils-- these are much subtler and are meant to highlight, or perhaps enhance your own natural scent. They’re often advertised as being meant to be most enjoyable for the wearer and whomever the wearer decides to let close enough to catch a hint. Isn’t that a delicious thought? 

“I remember once you mentioned liking gifts. I hope this is still true. Keep what you like with no obligation. -Peter.”

He even included his number, a thing Stiles had begged for at fifteen when his crush originally manifested. Like a responsible adult, Peter had indulged him as a friend but politely let Stiles down-- so subtly that Stiles didn’t even realize it at first. Now, eight years later, Stiles is thankful he had the chance to find himself on his own. 

Peter’s a smooth talker, which Stiles figured came with being an unmatched defense attorney. Though he works in Beacon Hills, which is admittedly not the largest city. He knew from his dad that Peter used to work in a larger city-- Stiles thinks LA but isn’t sure-- but knew Peter came back to Beacon Hills after Derek confessed to Talia about his relationship with an older woman who kept asking strange questions and always seemed to know more than she should have about the Hales’ werewolf status. She turned out to be Kate Argent, from a hunting family headed by the notoriously corrupt Gerard Argent, and she had been trying to trap the Hales in their pack house to burn it all down. Luckily, they were able to stop any of that from happening and turned her in to the hunting council. 

The smooth talking came in handy now, though, Stiles thought with a wry twist to his unpainted lips. While he by no means is soft-hearted, he knows with certainty that if Peter-- or anyone really-- had come out and said point blank that he should wear less perfume because it’s overpowering, Stiles would have been hurt. He would also have probably been embarrassed enough not to wear any for a while. He’s twenty-three, not in middle school anymore when it would be expected for people to over-use perfume. He was never taught how to wear cologne or anything, though. He’s on a late learning curve and sometimes, like now, Stiles feels it deeply. His mother was the one interested in this stuff, and after she passed, the Sheriff never again touched the cologne she had gifted him. And Stiles was such a nerdy kid that the Sheriff probably never really thought about passing on that kind of knowledge. 

If Peter had phrased this in any other way, Stiles would probably have shut that shit down, but as it was… Stiles felt his cheeks flush and was thankful his dad had a shift. He didn’t want to have to explain why a gift of perfume had him chubbing up in his flannel pajama pants. Stiles did like the idea of sharing his scent with someone close to him. Very close to him, preferably. 

After sending off a quick “thank you” text to the new contact in his phone, Stiles began exploring the contents of his gift, right there on the dining room table. The Sheriff could deal with the lingering “Macy’s perfume counter” effects of trying out a bunch of different scents at a time. Or maybe Stiles would crack a window and air out the first floor. He’ll see later if he remembers to. 

→←

“Backstreet’s back, ALRIGHT” blares from Stiles’ laptop as he got ready. He wasn’t going anywhere special, just the Hales’ for dinner with his dad, but he was dressing up. No specific reason why, he told himself, practically vibrating with excitement. Stiles knew there was a certain specific werewolf he was trying to impress, though. So he made sure to blend his smoky eye just right and forced himself not to blink as he coated his eyelashes in mascara. Normally, he wouldn’t care if he got a little smudged, but tonight a certain blue eyed wolf should be feasting with his eyes, and Stiles wanted to be glamorous. He chose a bright red lip that honestly looked positively edible on him and double checked his reflection in the mirror. Perfect. Now for the outfit. Since his dad was going to be there, Stiles didn’t want to necessarily take tonight to reclaim the word slutty. He stood in front of his closet wearing an old tee and some pajama pants, contemplating his choices. A knock came at the door and his father’s voice drifted through. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to be dressed and in the car,” followed by footsteps going down the stairs. The Sheriff knew if he didn’t periodically give time limits, Stiles would lose track of the clock and they’d be late. It was a system they’d worked out long ago during the Sheriff’s campaign trail. 

Stiles settled on some gray on black plaid cutoffs and a long-sleeved black crop top that showed just an inch or so of skin above the pants. He paired that with a black belt and some black secondhand Doc Martens. Stiles was thankful for Poshmark and websites like that for the gently used second hand items he prefers. If he exclusively bought from the local thrift stores his style would start steering more towards punk than nerdy hot goth. Nothing wrong with punk, of course, Stiles just preferred a more refined edge to his looks. It’s one of the reasons he hasn’t mastered nail polish yet. It always looks uneven when he applies it, and no matter what kind of bullet-proof, five star top coat he used, he would wind up chipping the nail polish within the day. The longest he’s gone with a perfect manicure was five days, and it was honestly too expensive to repeat. Luckily for him, Lydia had footed the bill on that one, so he hadn’t lost too much money on the experience. Stiles sighed, looking at his nails. Chipped polish would be great if he liked the punk look on him, but sadly he didn’t. Stiles cursed the day he let mainstream fashion (biases) enter his subconscious, but as he looked in the mirror he had to admit it looked damn good on him. At least his nails were groomed and even. It’s not great for a sex partner to have ragged nails with dirt on them, whether they were giving or receiving, so to speak. 

He was almost ready, just one last touch. Stiles grabbed the Sucreabeille brand perfume oil “Bloodline” and rubbed just a bit on his wrists and the area where his neck met his shoulder. The scent notes on the box listed “ruby pomegranate seeds, sticky, thick dragon’s blood, swirls of red musk and rosewood” but Stiles mainly loved the blend of sweet and musky. He inhaled deeply. There. Stiles was ready to show Peter how much he appreciated his gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sucreabeille is a real perfume company, and “Bloodline” is a real, gorgeous perfume oil they offer. I actually don’t prefer perfume oil, myself (the downsides of not having a werewolf nose is that it takes a lot for me to notice a scent). 
> 
> btw, if I did any art for this fic, would you rather I include it here on ao3 or just include a link to the art on my tumblr? Let me know!


End file.
